The Hierophant

Kohana Wakahisa | SHSL Classicist | EXECUTED

[elanormcinerney]

Anne Carson | An Oresteia | Agamemnon by Aiskhylos

[shslclassicist-blog]

forma boni fragilis est | chapter 3| Magnus

[shslclassicist-blog]

shsl-alchemical-chemistry:

The chemist stops his sweeping, a bit surprised when she swats away his hand. “Ah, um! Okay, I-I guess!” He responds, hesitantly. It would be lying if he said he weren’t at least a bit skeptical when she said that she was alright. If she was alright, he thought, she would not have accidentally dropped the snow globe once realizing what was on it. Magnus assumed that Shin at least meant something to her after watching her reaction, although he decided not to voice this opinion. He quietly raises himself from the ground and steps off to the side, watching as she sweeps away the debris. He wants to put his hands out, and suggest that he help, but he knew she would say he didn’t need to worry. It was true, after all, she was the one who broke it, but he still couldn’t help but feel terribly guilty as he watched her clean. He had reminded her of someone that she might have actually had some sort of care for. It almost felt as if while she had broken the knick knack, he had broken Kohana. Maybe, he thought, maybe that was a bit of a stretch, but nonetheless, he still felt the guilt that he had done so. “Huh?” Magnus asks, collecting himself once he hears the classicist speak again. “Me? Ah, um… I’m not all that great, to be honest. It’s… It’s gotten a teensy bit better, since I’m able to function more now, but…” The chemist taps the tips of his index fingers together. “I… really could be better, honestly.” It felt a bit odd being open with Kohana for him. She didn’t seem like the type of person to care about how you were doing, nevertheless even ask. He was grateful though, despite that, because she did seem at least a bit concerned.

And there. Glass shards in the bin, no evidence of her losing face left. There was no need to make such a fuss about a silly little broken trinket, after all. Once that was done she smiled gently at the chemist, placid as if nothing had ever happened. It might as well not have done, now that she’d pulled herself back together. She made a mental note not to let that ever happen again.

“Of course. Nobody expects you to be fine, not with what you’ve gone through. You’ve lost someone close to you, after all. Maybe not in the conventional sense, but it’s the idea of it, isn’t it? Ah, but I’m rambling.”

She brushed down her pinafore as if that could get the stray liquid splatters out if it. What was that? Definitely not purely water, it felt more oily than that. Then again, she could contemplate the chemical composition of a snowglobe solution at another time. Now she had to be the gracious hostess to her guest, that she somehow now had.

Still, he was here, and she may as well make it worth his while, especially considering her brief faux pas.

“Sit down,” she said, gesturing for him to sit on the bed while she pulled out her desk chair. “They say that talking about these sorts of matters helps, rather than trying to suppress your feelings. I’ll admit I’m not the best conversational partner in these circumstances, but I am a good listener. Nothing you say needs to leave this cottage. So let it all out. It’s the least I can do.”

[shslclassicist-blog]

una hirundo non facit ver | chapter 3 | Natsume

[shslclassicist-blog]

shsldoormat:

Selfish.

The word struck through her like ice, chilling every part of her body. Truthfully a part of her had come to accept that in time she would come across someone or they would come across her. She would not have a choice in the situation. Yet it had only been a couple of days since she, quote-unquote, returned to the land of the living–in the haze of everything that had happened she couldn’t possibly have come up with enough plans on how to approach the situation to not make this the most awkward, uncomfortable experience she’d ever  had in her life. She had been expecting names, angry words thrown in her direction as well, but ‘selfish’ hadn’t been one of the ones floating through her mind.

Questionable 'objectivity’ aside, there was no point in running. If Kohana had something to say to her, then it was Natsume’s duty to allow her to say it. Outside of herself, the Classicist was most likely the one most hurt by Shin’s fate. Had she even begun to deal with those feelings? It wasn’t Natsume’s place to ask any longer.

It felt like moving through an ocean pushing back against her even though the plain tiles glided against the wheels of her wheelchair just as easily as when she had entered the grocery store in the first place. “I’m sorry, Wakahisa-san, but I must respectfully disagree.” As the aisle stretched out in front of her, seemingly endless and with no chance for escape, there was comfort in seeing Kohana more focused on the canned goods in front of her than the Support herself. “Whatever hole you hope to blow in the Fool’s claims by me bein’ alive is purely superficial. D-do you really still think that any of them believe the Fool will allow anyone to leave Cliffside alive?”

“Besides that, I think the basis you’re working from is… faulty.” She just had to keep up the act a little longer. She could stop talking soon. Let Kohana say her worst, let her get her anger out, and it could be over. “I don’t see how I "got away” with anything. I confessed to my crime during the trial. I confessed during the verdict. I t-tried to incriminate myself during the investigation too. As far as I can see, the only thing this proves is that… is that The Fool will punish the guilty who admit to their crimes as well as the innocent who got nothin’ to do with it outside of a fairy tale. If I had remained quiet, then… then maybe, but…“

Her hands were shaking now. She hated this. Hated disagreeing with people, hated conflict. But she especially hated how at the end of everything, everyone was still hurting. And that hurt could not be undone no matter how hard she tried. 

"I… don’t think I have that much power. I really don’t. Me showing myself to everyone only serves as a reminder of what we lost.” Her shoulders slumped, hair framing her face in a way that made her look more like a certain girl who crawled out of a TV than the positive Support that had existed before. Still, her hands clenched in tight balls, wishing the Fool was here so she could… she could… oh, who is she kidding. She would never be able to follow through on punching their sadistic host.

“If I go back to the cottages I’d just… bring everyone down. Cause unrest 'n strife. Y'all can’t afford that right now, not with everything else that’s happened. I can help in th'shadows. Distract the Fool, maybe? Find where their lair is? It ain’t much, but… it’s all I kin do.”

She tried to keep her focus on the soup cans. How much soup did Kohana need? As much soup as it took to distract her, that’s how much soup she needed. She didn’t want to look in Natsume’s direction, because she was hearing quite enough as it was. Kohana could remember that one conversation - the romance novel by the duck pond, the idle chatter, the giggling over her roommate’s quirks and eccentricities. This girl sounded like another person entirely. The metamorphosis was fascinating, if not horrifying. She hadn’t even looked properly, but she’d heard the wheels. She was in a wheelchair now? What had the Fool done to her?

Whatever they’d done, at least they hadn’t done the same to her as they had to her partner.

“I doubt their lair is anywhere within our reach. And there’s no point in distracting the Fool if you’re serving as a distraction for exactly nobody. Face it, Miss Nannini, you’re not helping anyone as a lone wolf. You’re hiding.”

Look at that, lentil soup. She took it off the shelf, turning to the back as if thoroughly interested in the ingredient list.

“Contrary to what you might think, Miss Nannini, none of us want you dead. There’s enough bloodshed here as it is. Have you heard about what happened to Sora Noji? Our numbers are dwindling fast. We’d rather have you alive than otherwise.”

Come to think of it, how many of them were left now? They’d started out as a group of sixteen. There were ten of them left now. Six casualties. That was six families who’d lost a member, six holes left in lives that would never be filled. The more that Kohana thought about the ramifications, the more overwhelming the whole situation was.

“You might think everyone hates you, and you cannot expect to be quickly forgiven - it’s not easy, you must understand - but knowing that you’re alive could bring us all a little bit of hope. Just a little, but it’s in quite short supply here, you know. There’s people who care about you here. Are you so wrapped up in your own self-pity that you can’t see that? That we’d all maybe feel a little bit uplifted knowing that’s one less life pointlessly lost than we thought? Or maybe you’d rather stew in your own misery than look forward to the future. It’s your choice.”

Her voice was very calm, very level. It was the kind of voice she used in board rooms, controlled with just a touch of steel to it. There was no shred of any kind of emotion in it, no anger or hurt or even annoyance. Perhaps her comment on selfishness had been a bit too impassioned, but as she coolly examined the recommended serving amount of this lentil soup, Kohana managed to speak as though she felt nothing.

But then a thought occurred to her. Placing the soup tin neatly into her basket, she closed her eyes and reached into her pocket. She’d shoved the machine’s gift in there without a second thought, and hadn’t dwelled on it. It just sat there. She hadn’t wanted to look at it, and had even thought once or twice of destroying it, but now, it could be with the person it belonged to.

“I must go now. I need to be back at my cottage before curfew. I’d advise you to do the same, but I doubt that would convince you.”

Kohana took a deep breath before holding out the photo in Natsume’s direction, still not looking at it.

“I got this from the machine. It’s not mine to keep. I believe she’d want you to have it.”

[shslclassicist-blog]

forma boni fragilis est | chapter 3| Magnus

[shslclassicist-blog]

shsl-alchemical-chemistry:

The chemist breathed a sigh of relief when she smiled. Sure, it wasn’t the greatest gift one could get, he understood that. But just seeing what it meant to her in whatever state she was in gave him a twinge of happiness. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps he should do this more often. If he can’t be happy, maybe he can make others happy, instead.  But, as she continued on, the smile underneath his own mask disappeared.  “Blood? Huh?” The chemist asked, rather confused. He squints up at the snow globe, trying to get a closer look of it himself. He knew that there was a small smudge on the glass, but didn’t think much of it. Magnus had thought it was simply a paint smudge or maybe makeup. Never did he think something like that could have been blood. His shoulders raise involuntarily, and its obvious to see how worried he was now becoming.  “H-how… How’d that get there? It had come out of the crone with that on it, but I didn’t think– Eek!” He jumped back as it fell, before quickly shooting down to his hands and knees to try and brush the broken glass into his gloved hand. Of course this would happen, wouldn’t it? It was just his luck to try and cheer someone up, but instead hurt their feelings. “Eeeeh! It’s not your fault, really! This is my fault! I, I didn’t know that was blood, honestly! I-I didn’t know she… she was gonna…” He sniffles, blinking away the tears of guilt he felt coming. This was nothing to show weakness over, he thought. Yet, he couldn’t help but feel terrible about the issue that had just occurred.  “Y-you don’t need to redeem yourself at all! If anything, um, I think I should be the one redeeming myself, since, since this is my fault!” There was a worried tone in Magnus’s voice, as he pulled the end of his cloak up to dab the wet floor and the classicist’s shoes.

It sounded like he was crying, or at least close. He seemed more distressed about the broken snow globe than she was. Dropping it had cleared her mind, it felt, and after her brief fluster it was much easier to compose herself. That had been a dreadfully irrational thing for her to do - quite out of character, and quite unnecessary. Perhaps her admittedly unhealthy schedule of work was beginning to negatively affect her mental state.

“No need to worry, Mr Magnus. I’m quite alright now.” It was all gone, every hint of panic or distress. All of it seemed to have evaporated into thin air, to be replaced by her usual calm demeanour. If it weren’t for the shattered knick-knack on the floor, there would have been no evidence of her mask ever cracking in the first place.

Kohana bent down to swat his hands away from her feet, although she’d be lying if she said that she didn’t appreciate the gesture. “I’ll clean that up myself later. Don’t concern yourself with that. I was the one who broke it, I’ll be the one to take responsibility for it. You reap what you sow, and all of that.”

With that said, she turned to the chaos that her desk had become. A folded up piece of paper could be a suitable dust pan, surely. Certainly better than him trying to pick up all the shards himself. It was times like this that required one to think logically moreso than any other.

She didn’t know how to comfort him. Maybe somebody else would give him a hug, or a reassuring pat on the shoulder, but she wasn’t like her mother. She wasn’t warm, she wasn’t capable of anything of the sort. The best she could do was try to sweep up the glass shards into her makeshift dust pan and keep talking as softly as she could.

“I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate the gesture, because I do. You’re the first to ask after my wellbeing. I’m fine, of course, I’m quite alright, but I appreciate the effort nonetheless. You couldn’t have known. It was just a silly little irrational moment on my part. I promise you it shan’t happen again.”

There was a brief pause as she swept in silence. It would be far more prudent of her to stay silent, but she couldn’t. He was too vulnerable for her to do so.

“I should really be asking how you’re holding up, Mr Magnus. I’d give you a gift myself, but I’m afraid I’ve got nothing suitable.”

[shslclassicist-blog]

forma boni fragilis est | chapter 3| Magnus

[shslclassicist-blog]

shsl-alchemical-chemistry:

The past few days in Cliffside were absolute hell for the troubled chemist, each reason striking down on him like daggers. He tried his best not to think about his girlfriend being a murderer, or one of his best friends getting shot, but everything he did came right back to those thoughts. He couldn’t even take a simple walk down to the lake without getting tears in his eyes. Why… why was this happening? Why did he, or anyone here, deserve this? These were questions that Magnus wished he could answer. At some point in the past, although he couldn’t put his finger on when (everything he had done recently was like a blur), he had made a visit to the crone and got a hefty amount of items. It wasn’t like any of the items he had would help him here, or give him any happiness, but using the coins almost felt like he was coping. There was one item he had gotten, though, that had reminded him of someone in Cliffside. The tiny snowglobe hadn’t made very much sense to him, since as far as he knew, there wasn’t any snow in Rome. Despite that, he thought maybe the classicist might enjoy it. Especially since… her roommate died. He hoped that the tiny gift, despite the odd place it was in and the unusual pink spot on it, cheered Kohana up. So, Magnus took a walk over to her cottage, Snowglobe in hand, trying his best not to eye the ducks over near the pond. “Ah, hello!” He spoke as she opened the door. She seemed a bit groggy for whatever reason, and the chemist hoped that he hadn’t disturbed her in any way. His shoulders rose worriedly as he continued on. “I hope I, um, didn’t disturb you or anything, but…” There was a smudge on her cheek, he had noticed, but didn’t speak of it as he was worried saying something about it would come off as rude. “Um! I’m not sure how you’ve been f-feeling lately, but I’m sure you haven’t been in the best of moods. Er, I got this from the fortune teller, though, and I thought maybe it’d cheer you up, or something, since, you know, the trial…” His words come out awkwardly, but there is an obvious tinge of concern in his voice. He brings the snowglobe up, and hands her the knick-knack shakily.

Kohana took the gift carefully, as if just touching it could break it. It leaned on the side of being tacky, in all honesty, the kind of lazy gift a particularly unimaginative tourist might get. But she smiled all the same. Maybe it was just because she hadn’t expected it. Everyone she had spoken to since the trial, all those discussions, and nobody had ever asked if she was okay. Perhaps they’d just assumed that she was. And she was okay, she was fine, it was not in her nature to be anything but completely composed and put together. But there was something pleasantly simple about his concern and this attempt to cheer her up, as unnecessary as it was. Never mind there was something loitering in the back of her mind, a quiet voice telling her she’d seen this snow globe somewhere before.

She turned around, gesturing for him to follow her, her attentions still on the snowglobe. “Do you drink tea? I - oh, of course, I almost forgot. Never mind, then.” Kohana shook it, watching the little flakes of fake snow dance in the liquid. “It does actually snow in Rome. Not very often, of course, and it’s only ever light, but it’s happened in recent memory. And it’s thought that during the classical era the climate of Italy was far cooler because there was no global warming, so it’s-”

Kohana froze when she noticed the pink spot. It looked like a smudge, like lipstick or something. With a small frown, she held it closer to inspect, running a thumb over the surface.

“There’s blood on it.”

Her voice was almost underwhelming, flat and factual. Yes, it was definitely blood. No two ways about it. He had just given her a snow globe with blood on it. Whose blood was it? Covered up as he was, there was no way he could have accidentally cut himself or anything. Then whose blood was it?

Kohana held it up to the light, watching how it shone. She’d definitely seen it before, but where? Only in passing, and she struggled to recall, like trying to remember the strains of a distant song. Where had she seen it?

And then it all fell into place. She remembered seeing it, oh so briefly, while investigating the cottage, before she found the far more interesting muddy shirt under her bed. At the time, Kohana had dismissed it as irrelevant. How had Magnus ended up with it? And, the more significant question, the one that she feared she knew the answer to: whose blood was it?

“Oh dear.”

Kohana looked at the blood spot for a second more, then dropped it. She didn’t even flinch as the snow globe shattered at her feet, liquid soaking her shoes and glass shards scattering across the floor. In fact, she was completely still and silent before turning around again, hurriedly tucking a loose strand of hair back in place as if she’d just snapped out of a trance, suddenly flustered.

“I’m sorry, that was terribly rude of me. I really do appreciate the thought. It’s just - I think that possibly - Miss Fukui might have - that was really so rude of me, I do apologise.”

She’d worked so hard to keep it together, to never let Cliffside’s mind games get in the way of decorum. Kohana was always unfailingly polite, but for one moment she had let her image slip. She took a second to take a deep breath and try and claw her dignity back together.

“Oh dear. I really do apologise, Mr Magnus. Is there any way that I can redeem myself?”

[shslclassicist-blog]

una hirundo non facit ver | chapter 3 | Natsume

[shslclassicist-blog]

shsldoormat:

If Cliffside had ever, for one terrible, terrible second, felt like home it certainly didn’t now. No longer did the winds remind her of the rural days of her past–they only served to remind Natsume of her intense loneliness that she only had herself to blame for. Shin’s voice may have been the last thing she heard before passing out, but that week apart from the others drove away any fool notions that the dancer may still be alive somewhere. But she was alive, and the question as to “why” rang dull and hollow like a battered bell.

She couldn’t stay. That much she knew. Even if her roommate had forgiven all for the blood on her hands, she may not forgive the way she left–with a note and a simple word of thanks in the dead of night–after all the Consigliere had done. And if the Fool had anything to say about her leaving their carefully tailored confines for a more rustic surrounding they hadn’t said it yet. Maybe they wouldn’t speak with her ever again either.

As if that would be a bad thing.

Separating herself from the others had some consequences though, the most pressing of which was food. She didn’t exactly have a fridge out there, or any cooking apparati that wasn’t banking on her remembering things from that one time she went camping more than a decade ago. And sure she could squirrel things away for later, but she could only bring as much back as could fit on her lap: the one time she had balanced her haul more precariously the items had, unsurprisingly, fallen to the ground leading to a lot of frustration and crying that she was glad no one was around to hear. She may not be eating much these days, but her stash wasn’t endless.

In a general sense, Natsume could guess the schedules of the others back in the village, and it’d become a short term ritual to travel in the early morning to pick some things up as to not disturb the others, in whatever way that feeling may manifest in them. Going out as early as she was this evening was a huge gamble, but dang it, she’d forgotten to go that morning and she’d already not eaten the day before (she could practically feel Shin scolding her from beyond)!

She remembered when the grocery first opened she practically cried from happiness. Now, though, it felt more tainted than it was already. It was a maze. The Fool could be waiting anywhere. Watching. Deciding whether or not they had done enough to her; maybe it was time to bring her back for another week. Not for an instant did she believe their desire for death and pain had been satiated in any way. She had to put that aside for now, though. She had to pick up granola bars.

The wheels gliding across the tiles of the market were comfortingly quiet enough; she could do without the intermittent clicking sounds that came from the chair, but to complain at this point would be more than selfish. And Natsume hadn’t heard anyone else walking around, but as a voice called out to her from within the aisle she just passed she grasped the wheels so tightly that her body jerked to a stop. She could back up. Check and make sure that it was just her imagination. (It wasn’t. There’s no way that was her imagination.) Instead, she remained frozen between the two aisles.

What should she do? That… that had to be Kohana, right? Anxiety pulsed through her head, strobe lighting images of endless confrontations at her.

“Umm,” her voice was barely more than a squeak. “J-just gettin’ some food. I’ll be gone soon so you can pretend you didn’t see me.”

Please let her pretend she didn’t see me.

She could live her life as a hated ghost, and the others could go on thinking she got what she deserved. But she had worked SO HARD to make sure she wouldn’t be seen….

The absurdity of the situation was absolutely staggering. Here she was, encountering the disappeared murderess of Cliffside, who she’d thought long gone, who her roommate had sacrificed herself to protect, in a grocery store with a tin of tomato soup in hand. It didn’t feel like any of it was actually happening, and for a minute Kohana wondered if her mind had rapidly deteriorated without her noticing. Then again, all of life in Cliffside felt unreal. It was a parade of one ridiculous event to another. At this point she was willing to believe anything, and she wasn’t about to pretend that she hadn’t seen what she’d seen.

“I’m not going to pretend.” She said, her voice oddly calm compared to how she felt. It sounded stern, authoritative, like a scolding guardian. “Come back, Miss Nannini. Don’t run away. Don’t be a coward.”

She didn’t bother chasing after her. Primarily because she hadn’t the energy, but also because she doubted the support would flee. Guilt was a potent feeling, after all, and she was certain that Natsume had to be drowning in it. It would be simply heartless of her otherwise. No, she would stay. Kohana carried on collecting her food and supplies as if the whole predicament was uninteresting.

“You do realise, Miss Nannini, that hiding yourself from the rest of us is selfish? I don’t mean to stoop to the level of personal attacks, of course, I’m simply stating objective facts. But you are being selfish.”

Kohana hadn’t quite sorted through her feelings towards Natsume. She’d considered them to be totally irrelevant. Natsume was no longer one of their group, therefore there was no need to think of her, just like there was no need to dwell on past events. But now she was here, right in front of her, and Kohana didn’t even know what her opinion was. She’d tried so hard to leave it all behind. However, personal feelings aside, she understood the wider context here, the potential, and so she kept on talking.

“Half of the motive for people to commit murder in here is escaping. That is a fact. If you hide in the shadows, then there may well be another tragedy, and that blood would be on your hands. But if the group discovers that you, someone who committed murder and got away with it, so to speak, are still just as trapped as the rest of us - then that could blow open the Fool’s whole plan. It removes one of the main driving forces to kill. Don’t you understand the power you have, Miss Nannini? I don’t think you do. Because if you did, you’d be ashamed of yourself for hiding away.”

[shslclassicist-blog]

una hirundo non facit ver | chapter 3 | Natsume

With the exception of her trips to search for the Fool, Kohana stuck mostly to her own cabin. She had nearly a week’s worth of translation work to catch up on, after all, that’s what she kept telling herself. Never mind that there was no practical use for her translations and no deadlines to keep to besides the ones she set herself. There were no publishers and no students for her in Cliffside. But she kept working with the mindset that she had to make up for lost time, first thing in the morning after the alarm up until whenever she fell asleep past the curfew.

It was familiar, an easy routine to preoccupy herself with. She was making absolutely marvellous progress for whenever - if ever - she returned to her old life. Reams and reams of translations there for the publishing. Even if she was beginning to expect that it was a futile pursuit, she pursued it because it was what she did best, and certainty was such a rare commodity in their current predicament.

Nevertheless, she was not (to her chagrin) a robot without basic human needs, and so after a few days it was necessary to restock on food. There was about half an hour left until the curfew - surely she couldn’t take that long. Just a supply run, then she’d be back to work just like before.

So there she was, loading food into her basket (enough for a few days, at least) when she caught a glimpse of gold out of her peripheral vision. At first, she almost dismissed the sight as uninteresting, before her mind kicked in to form the relevant associations.

There was one person in Cliffside with golden hair like that, and that was someone she hadn’t expected to find in the grocery store.

Kohana was frozen in position, soup tin in hand, torn between carrying on as if she hadn’t noticed or continuing to silently observe. But that would not answer her questions, and she had so many of them bubbling to the surface that she could not be content with silence.

“Miss Nannini?” Her voice was incredulous, but not necessarily shocked. “What on earth are you doing here?”

[fortunespeak]

Kohana spends three Fool's gold. No point in holding on to it, after all.

The crone doesn’t do very much at all. It takes a full minute for her joints to creak and move her into a sitting upright position with jagged motions. Her jaw clanks open and shut, but it seems so… lackluster…. is she even TRYING to be creepy anymore?

What a strange thought. How could a machine try to be anything?

After her small performance, the crone quickly slumps again.

Three items and three slips of paper fall out.

Kohana receives:

Picture: It’s old and a bit frayed at the edges, and there’s some spots on it here and there, as if someone left it lying around places pictures really should not be kept, like the kitchen or in direct sunlight. It shows a little girl with her hair in a ponytail, smiling a big toothy grin. She’s wearing a ballet uniform and holding up a gold medal, though it looks suspiciously like plastic. Behind her are two adults, her parents from the looks of it, seeming equally as proud of their child’s achievement.

Pack of Cigarettes - Even without opening this, it reeks of tobacco. If someone here is engaging in nasty habits like smoking, I’m sure The Fool will hear about this. If you do partake, be prepared for stained teeth, bad breath, and no friends. At least, that’s what the media would have you believe…

Falling Apart Sketchbook - Signed in the corner are the initials S.N. The sketchbook itself is falling apart, but the drawings inside are undeniably of a SHSL level.

The fortunes read:

“Does money really matter so much to you? She’s gone now.”

“Your father will hear about this.” 

“You’re the greatest! Everybody loves you. You can do no wrong.”

[shslclassicist-blog]

forma boni fragilis est | chapter 3| Magnus

Getting access to her cottage again had been a relief, one that was all the more sweet due to the strife that preceded it. For nearly a week, Kohana had been sleeping in the chapel, spending most of her days in the haberdashery, and living in a state of constant vigilance. She was more vulnerable than ever, and if even Natsume Nannini, one of the most genuinely purehearted among them, could take a life, then she knew that any of her classmates could crack. And if they did, she was an easy target, practically walking around the village with a big red cross painted on her back.

She hadn’t expected the Fool to be so obliging, but she was not complaining. Now she had showered and slept in a bed, and she once again had access to her books. The events that followed her cottage being opened again had been unfortunate, to say the least, but she now had returned to her most faithful companions - her books.

Kohana had a lot of work to make up, a lot of time to kill, and a lot of thoughts to purge. After the incident in the theatre, she had been translating virtually non-stop, and practically lived like a monk. She took breaks to eat, to sleep and to shower, but then she was back at work. It was normally a comforting process, but now she worked until she fell asleep at the desk. It was easier than confronting her feelings on what had taken place.

It was a knock at the door that woke her up from where she’d fallen asleep, head resting on her translation. She took a few moments to gather where she was - oh, her work was smudged, perhaps all over her face, how fantastic - before taking the time to be irritated instead. It couldn’t be any later than the early afternoon. Certainly, it was before their curfew, and honestly she wasn’t sure if the Fool’s rules allowed accidental naps, but it was still an inconvenience to be woken up. If it was that masked menace there to disturb her, she might just have lost it.

Still, she opened the door, frantically trying to rub off the ink that she suspected was on her cheek and recognising the alchemist. If she remembered correctly, he hadn’t been in the best of states following the presentation in the theatre. Nor regarding his girlfriend being a murderer, come to think of it.

Which begged the question of why he’d come to see her. Kohana fixed him with a look that she hoped appeared dignified and not like he’d just woken her up.

“Mr Magnus, what a pleasant surprise.” She said with weary, half-hearted cheer at best. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

[fortunespeak]

cuilibet fatuo placet sua calva | chapter three | Kohana

[shslclassicist-blog]

fortunespeak:

Another long pause. This quirk of theirs seemed to be the most consistent thing about them.

They brought a hand up to massage the back of their neck. As they spoke they moved from their neck to each shoulder, carefully and slowly massaging their own fatigue away. Their voice came out quiet and low.

“…Ah. Pardon me. I don’t know what you mean by ‘toying with you.’ Mm, and I know your medication is extremely important. Why have you been without it this whole time?”

Looking between Kohana and the door, something seemed to dawn on them.

“Did you lose your key, Wakahisa-san? There’s no penalty for that at all. I’m glad you called me for this actually…” 

The Fool began rummaging in their pockets for something, hopefully a key for Kohana and not another deadly weapon. At this point, what must be protecting and endangering the students was The Fool’s own whims. They acted as nonchalantly as ever, though, pulling out a shiny, gold key. A master key.

“I hope nothing bad has happened with your health as you’ve been locked out…” They turned the key in the lock easily enough and opened the door for her. “Please, if something does come up, tell me right away. I can get you the treatment you need.”

Kohana had been expecting to have to fight harder. Maybe hand over the rest of her Fool’s gold, or have to pass some kind of test to be allowed in. It seemed that forcing her to do so would fit neatly into the Fool’s modus operandi. But they seemed to be unnervingly co-operative, for someone who had murdered her roommate.

Not like she was complaining or anything. Their behaviour made her skin crawl, but on this occasion, it served her purposes. Even if the Fool was never anything but predatory in nature, she’d taken false amiability over their capacity for outright aggression any day.

She smiled softly at them. “Thank you immensely. These past few days have been most frightful without access to my cabin. Fortunately, whilst I have struggled moreso than usual, there haven’t been any - ah, incidents - due to lack of medication, for which I am glad. I just fear that any longer and it could have been quite another story.” 

Her ice was gone now. She spoke with the kind of cordial tone she’d address a fellow academic with. Kohana clasped her hands together.

“You have my gratitude for this. Medically, I’ll be fine now, but you can still help me. May I ask if I could have a spare copy of the key? In order to avoid any unfortunate predicaments happening again, of course. I know that, as a gracious host, you’ll allow me this small request.”

[volchiitza]

Acropolis, Athens

[fortunespeak]

cuilibet fatuo placet sua calva | chapter three | Kohana

[shslclassicist-blog]

fortunespeak:

The Fool was slow to show up. Minutes ticked by without so much as a peep from the host of Cliffside, leaving Kohana alone again with her thoughts and the light rustling of wind through the trees. Perhaps they were so slow that Kohana could only believe that they wouldn’t come. They never did seem to want to abide by any schedule that wasn’t their own, did they? 

At the twenty minute mark, they appeared. They stepped out from beside Kohana’s cottage and approached.

The Fool, for once, looked…tired. They slouched, steps slow and sluggish and slightly wobbly. No one had yet seen The Fool like this. No one likely thought it capable for The Fool to be like this.

In front of Kohana, they straightened as best they could, as if they were standing at attention, wanting to respect their guests as much as possible even if it was just through their posture. It almost immediately started to sag.

“Wakahisa-san…” Their voice sounded weirder than usual. The distortion was worsened. Was it raspy? “What can I help with?”

Kohana was a patient girl. She always had been. But even she had an expression of mild irritation when the Fool finally arrived, For the first time, her smile was obviously a forced one, a thin veil for her annoyance.

Still, she did manage a smile. There was no hint of pity for the Fool’s bedraggled state, not even a shred of it. Kohana knew crocodile tears when she saw them. After all, had the Fool not just appeared to them in perfect physical condition? She could not be deceived that easily.

“I understand that you’re toying with us.” She said curtly, her forced smile fading to a stern expression. “And that we are at your mercy. And if I am never allowed in my cottage again, so be it. But my medication is in there, and if, for all your talk of loving us, you do not let me get it, then I am afraid you’re nothing but a pitiful phoney.”

The smile returned, this time with a slight hint of passive aggression. She clutched her hands tighter, so tight that her nails dug into the flesh. “So please, Fool, either let me into the cottage, or give me my medication. It would be simply disgraceful for you to deny me it.”

[mortisia]

The most hateful grief of all human griefs is this, to have knowledge of the truth but no power over the event.

Herodotus, Greek historian (484–425 BC)

[oh-girl-among-the-roses]

She who loves roses must be patient and not cry out when she is pierced by thorns.

Sappho

[gemma-antiqua]

Hellenistic Greek gold, emerald, plasma, and pearl earrings, with pendants in the shape of amphoras, dated to the 2nd century BCE. Currently located in the British Museum.

[shsl-moonlight-blog]

Scent of a Monster | Ch 2 Motive Reaction | Satsuki | Open

[shslclassicist-blog]

shsl-moonlight:

Satsuki threw her hands up in a gesture of defeat.

“Ahaha… That obvious, huh? Maybe I’m losing my touch. Alright, alright, I’ll take it seriously.” In spite of her words, Satsuki’s expression made it clear she didn’t expect Kohana to buy her blatant attempt at misdirection, nor did she feel particularly ashamed for having failed.

“I’m a little bit surprised, though. I thought big business was full of corruption and scandal. There’s nothing that important to you? Ah, don’t answer that. None of my business. I don’t mean to offend, I’ve just heard plenty of things from some patrons. Probably some things I shouldn’t have heard, but in vino, veritas, right?”

Satsuki rolled her eyes, evidently finding some amount of humor in the situation.

“Well, whatever the case, I don’t intend to meet my end anytime soon either, so I’m glad we can agree on that. Though I don’t know if I can agree about your lack of threat. You’ve clearly got some brains on you, and if studying the classics is anything like I assume it is, a high tolerance for pain. Ah, again, no offense. All I mean to say… It’s not the strong ones you need to worry about.”

Satsuki didn’t seem particularly troubled. She carried on breezily, unperturbed. Was Kohana disappointed? Not really, no. Perhaps the hostess might have been disappointed that Kohana wouldn’t play along with her game, but then again, she’d never been a playful person.

And that was why she didn’t play along when Satsuki had the gall to insult her family’s company. She stood up suddenly, hands clasped tightly in front of her, and her aura turned to ice. There was palpable indignation as she spoke, voice clipped and curt and in no way amused.

“I’ll have you know that the Wakahisa-Nakamura Corporation has, throughout its history, been a paragon of safe workplace practice. Our health and safety record is impeccable, our finances have always been secure, and worker satisfaction is above average. I will abide by many things, but I will not let you slander my family name based off gossip.”

It wasn’t even about the company. Even though Satsuki had made it clear that she had no intention to offend, the offence was still there. Still, once her point had been made, Kohana exhaled deeply, and all her iciness seeped away.

“I study dead languages. A worthwhile field of study it is, but it hardly equips one for murder. I’ll never go down without a fight, but it would be foolish to think that I am safe. Still, I applaud your cautiousness. Everyone’s a threat.”

[shslclassicist-blog]

quieta non movere | chapter 2 post motive| Aiko

[shslclassicist-blog]

ultimategravedigger:

Aiko had immediately fled to the graveyard after the Fool’s announcement, feeling hurt and scared and afraid and, most of all, humiliated. The first time she had laid eyes on the graveyard she was disgusted and offended by its corniness, but in her desperate struggle to take her mind off of what had happened, it served as a perfect outlet for distraction.

With tears streaming down her face and a runny nose, Aiko had spent every second since the Fool’s announcement trying to make the graveyard look a little more tasteful. Straightening the headstones, pulling the weeds, anything she could do to make it look a little nicer. After eventually falling into a highly concentrated rhythm, Aiko had been able to make her mind go blank as she engulfed herself in her work.

Until she was interrupted.

She stood up fast, quickly wiped her face and nose, and smoothed her skirt before turning around to see who had spoken to her.

…Oh… hello…

It took her another second to process what Kohana had said, and then her eyes fell on the doll. Her fingers twitched.

…That doll… is in beautiful condition… You could probably… sell it for… quite a lot…

She tried to play it off nonchalantly, but her eyes were fixed on the doll, carefully analyzing the quality of its hair and the fabric used for its clothes.

Kohana felt like she was baiting a rabbit out of its den or something of the sort, that moving too quickly would scare her away again. Gingerly, she held out the doll and stepped into the graveyard itself. The whole area felt corny and tactless to her, but it made sense that so soon after being exposed, one would retreat back into whatever shred of familiarity they could find in this Cliffside.

She felt like an intruder, but now was not the time to let her own inhibitions limit her. This time, more than any other, did someone need to reach out. Even if she didn’t extend a hand so much as a gift, she hoped it was to the same effect.

“You could probably sell it for a lot, yes. But I have no need for money anyway. It’s yours if you want it.”

It looked like she had been crying. She’d cleaned herself up before turning around, but her eyes were still red. It felt completely at odds with the almost predatory way she was eyeing up the doll. Was this a villain? It didn’t feel like it. She felt like a little girl who just wanted too much.

“Miss Namanari...” she coughed, trying to clear her throat. Why was it so difficult to approach this topic delicately? “If there’s anything you want to say, regarding the Fool’s announcement, you can say it. I’m no gossip. If you just want someone to talk to.”